


Amnesia

by cosmisce



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Nishinoya Yuu & Tanaka Ryuunosuke are Bros, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28126080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmisce/pseuds/cosmisce
Summary: One day, Daichi wakes up to discover that volleyball doesn't exist. While he tries to act normal around his friends, there is no amnesia for the body.
Relationships: Nishinoya Yuu & Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi & Karasuno Volleyball Club, Sawamura Daichi & Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	Amnesia

Suga stirs, roused by a persistent pain in his forehead. He groans and opens his eyes, squinting into the soft, misty light of morning. 

“Careful, that’s where I keep my brains,” Suga says. He grimaces at the sound of his voice, scratchy and wan before he clears it. “What’s up, Nishinoya?” 

“I’m bored,” Nishinoya informs him. He is kneeling next to Suga’s prone form, an expectant smile on his face as Suga regards him mutely. 

“What am I, your personal court jester?” Suga grumbles, before he sighs. The sooner he can lose Nishinoya, the more sleep he can reclaim in the coming hours. “What about harassing Tanaka? He’s much more fun than I am.”

“Believe me, I sure did try,” Nishinoya says, before he launches into a story about the foot fight which had ensued. Tanaka had been the victor of the melee: sleep-fighting, he’d maintained the edge in complete disregard for his friend’s welfare. Nishinoya had conceded in sullen silence, but not before placing a pair of his soiled shorts onto his friend’s nose.

“So here I am,” Nishinoya concludes, painful in his brightness. Suga searches his dream-muddled brain for a possible escape plan, but comes up short. He drags his limbs out of the toasty embrace of his comforter in defeat and settles into a kneeling position on his futon.

“Well, good morning,” Suga says. “I need to start preparing lunch for the team, want to help?”

“Sure!” Nishinoya chirps, and they descend the couple flights of stairs into the kitchen. Suga opens the instant pot and starts scooping rice into it, gesturing for Nishinoya to open the fridge.

“Prepare the vegetables,” Suga says. “We need some radishes, some cucumbers, and some broccoli.”

“Great! I’ll cut them for you!” Nishinoya says, snatching a vegetable knife from the cabinet before Suga can object. Placing them on a cutting board, he begins to chop them into jagged, irregular pieces. 

_At least he’s enjoying himself,_ Suga consoles himself before he forces his blood pressure to return to normal. They labor in silence for a while. 

“It’s too bad Daichi-san couldn’t come last night,” Nishinoya says as he discreetly pushes a couple slices of fermented radish through his lips. Suga stifles a smile.

“Well, his parents go on a lot of business trips,” Suga replies. Though it is too bad: Daichi had been the one to suggest a team slumber party, after all. Suga’s house had been a natural choice for the occasion, as his house has a spare room on the third floor which has been empty since his grandparents relocated to the country. The night had passed successfully: only four dishes had been broken, and Hinata had managed to bring his surly younger brother, Jiro, out of his shell during a game of Super Smash Bros. 

But Suga had found himself reaching out for Daichi in unexpected moments, wanting to turn and tell him some humorous comment only they would understand—the feeling assaulting him so suddenly he couldn’t breathe. 

While the team spent most of their team around one another, it was most times as a whole or split into their separate friend groups. It was rare for one of them to be missing. 

A sudden thought comes to Suga: sadistic and profane, but too tempting to abandon.

“Say, Nishinoya,” Suga says, his eyes hidden by his bangs. “You feel it to, don’t you?” 

Nishinoya grimaces in confusion. “Feel what?” 

“Feel the presence of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, of course!” Suga says, eyes lurid as he turns to him. 

Nishinoya is silent for a moment, before his face brightens and a wide grin spreads across it. 

Daichi settles into his seat and rubs a hand across his face. Last night had been rough: his younger sister had vomited, and he’d had to keep vigil in her room until she’d fallen asleep. 

He breathes a sigh of relief at seeing Suga. He taps him on the shoulder. 

“Morning, Suga,” he says. 

Suga turns, startled for a moment before he smiles. “Morning, Daichi.” Daichi doesn’t fail to miss the tiredness held in his face, eyes much more dim than usual.

“Wild night, huh?” Daichi teases.

Suga doesn’t react. “Oh, uh...not really. I just studied for the math test and went to bed.” 

Daichi’s eyes widen at this. “You studied, huh?” He whistles. “Can’t imagine you got much done around Nishinoya and Tanaka, though.”

“Nishinoya and Tanaka?”

“Yes, the team’s resident incendiaries,” Daichi says, letting out a fond laugh. “Though Hinata and Kageyama might steal that title soon, if they’re antics increase.” His smile stills when he catches Suga’s inanimate expression, mystified but anxious to understand him. 

“In any case,” Daichi says, deciding to abandon that particular train of thought, “Are you excited for volleyball practice this afternoon?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Daichi laughed. “Just because morning practice was cancelled doesn’t mean afternoon is too.” He has to project his voice to be heard among the chatter of his peers as their Japanese Classics teacher settles himself at the lectern. 

“You’re acting strange this morning, Daichi,” Suga says, before he turns from him to face front. Before Daichi can respond, their teacher starts his lecture. 

He opens his notes, the question sharpening itself on his teeth. He pushes it far from his mind, far enough so he doesn’t feel its fangs. 

Daichi and Suga settle on the grass during lunch, spreading their legs among the untrimmed blades before they lean against a tree. 

Daichi eats some rice. “Strange that Asahi has a college counselor meeting during lunch.” 

“It’s a busy time for third years,” Suga replies. “No wonder the counselors can’t schedule us all to meet after school.” 

“But Asahi was trembling,” Daichi says, voice severe. “And red-faced, too. I wonder if he’s alright.”

“It’s Asahi, remember?” Suga says, his retort as vacuous as before. Daichi rolls his eyes, reminding himself to demand from one his teammates what the hell had happened last night, before he sighs and decides to not press the subject.

“So, for practice today, I want to warm the team up using some knee exercises and then go for a run at the shrine,” Daichi says. “Then we can split into teams and—”

“I’m sorry, hold on a second,” Suga says. “What practice?”

Daichi stares at him, dumbfounded. “Volleyball practice after school.” 

Suga studies him, using those same, omniscient eyes he uses on the court. Daichi fumbles under his scrutiny, wondering what it means for those eyes to be used against him. 

“Daichi,” Suga says at last, words small and scared and tender. It is as if he’s reaching out to a child. “You’ve been a member of the photography club for the past three years.” 

The breath is stolen from Daichi’s throat as time stills. He stares at his best friend. The wind runs through their hair. 

“Suga, are you feeling alright?” Daichi puts a hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature. Normal. “You’re concussed, aren’t you? We should get you to a hospital...” Before he can pull Suga into a standing position, he’s met by Nishinoya running to them from the school building.

“Daichi-san, Suga-san!” Nishinoya calls out, a bright smile on his face as he raises a hand in greeting. “Are you guys still photographing the tournament this afternoon?”

“What tournament?” Daichi says. 

Outrage flashes in Nishinoya’s eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot! You and Suga-san agreed to photograph the wrestling match today for the local paper.” 

“I’m not a photographer,” Daichi says, before Suga slaps him on the shoulder.

“Daichi, stop it, you’re embarrassing me!” he hisses, before he turns to Nishinoya. “We’ll be there, Nishinoya. It’s you against Tanaka, isn’t it?” 

“A match for the history PBS specials, of course,” Nishinoya preens. “I’m not worried about it, though. Once I use my secret weapon, Ryuu’s done for.”

“Hold on,” Daichi says, releasing an involuntary laugh. “You’re not a wrestler, Nishinoya.” 

“Hey!” Nishinoya glares at him. “I may be small, but I’m also slippery.” 

“In case you forgot, you’re speaking to the third best light-weight wrestler in our prefecture,” Suga says, nudging him in the head, but there is a conspicuous worry in his voice that wasn’t there a couple seconds ago. 

Daichi grits his teeth. “Stop playing around.” He snatches Nishinoya’s collar, ignoring his surprised complaints as he forces his friend to meet his eyes. “You are Nishinoya Yuu, and you’re a libero, not the goddamn star member of our wrestling club, which for your information doesn’t exist!”

“Get off me!” Nishinoya says. He tries and fails to struggle out of Daichi’s iron grip. “And what the hell’s a libero? _You’re_ a libero, you...you...”

“I’m not getting into this conversation,” Daichi says. “We’re settling this inside.” Ignoring the confused protests of his friends, Daichi hauls them to the second floor where he storms into Tanaka’s classroom. 

Tanaka, Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita are seated, as usual, around Tanaka’s table, lunches spread out on the surface as they converse. Daichi clears his throat.

“Oh, hey Daichi-san,” Ennoshita says. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Can you tell these idiots that they’re a part of the volleyball club?” Daichi demands, choosing to ignore the standard pleasantries. “I’m not going to be fooled by their antics.” 

An eerie silence falls on the table—eerie, if it hadn’t occurred so often in the past couple hours. Daichi suppresses the urge to throttle them.

“Don’t deny it,” Daichi says, eyes scouring his friends. He points a finger at Tanaka’s face, which is flushed and coated in perspiration. “I see Tanaka blushing. I’m not going to fall for your little game.” 

“Is this a club you’re starting?” Narita suggests.

“No, of course not.”

Ennoshita sighs. “Then I’m lost.”

“What the—it’s not just _them,_ it’s all of _you,_ too,” Daichi says as he gesticulates his hands in helpless frustration. “We’re all a part of it. It’s...” Daichi tries to find the right words. He deflates. “It’s...”

“It’s is the first I’m hearing about this,” Ennoshita admits, cutting through his ruminations. “Are you feeling alright, Daichi-san?”

“We should get him to the hospital. He’s been acting strange all morning,” Suga says. 

“You all are the ones acting strange,” Daichi grumbles, sensing a dead end in his argument. Suddenly, his face brightens. “That’s it!” 

“What? Did you finally remember?” 

“No,” Daichi says, glaring at Nishinoya before he grins in triumph: “If we’re not on the same team, then why are all of us friends?” 

“Tanaka and Nishinoya are both members of the wrestling club, and Narita, Kinoshita, and I conduct research after school at the biology lab,” Ennoshita says, as he gestures to his friends. 

“Alright, but then what about me?”

“You used to join us in dodgeball games during lunch before your third year,” Ennoshita replies, a familiar concern creeping across his features. “Don’t you remember? It was a while ago, but...”

“And you, Tanaka?” Daichi interrupts, setting stern eyes on his friend. Tanaka has been eluding him all this time, eyes burning through his table as he fidgets. Daichi places his fingers on Tanaka’s chin and forces him to meet his eyes. 

“You tutored me in chemistry last year,” Tanaka says, and to Daichi’s dismay, he is completely straight-faced before it collapses in disappointment. “I thought...I thought we’d been close, but...I guess you don’t remember...”

“No, no, _of course_ I remember,” Daichi insists on instinct, saying what he can to soothe his distraught friend. He almost considers abandoning his pursuit and letting the crisis run its course before Suga puts a hand on his shoulder.

“As I’m saying, you should at least the see the nurse, Daichi,” Suga says. “So you can stop rambling about ultimate frisbee, or...”

 _“IT’S VOLLEYBALL!”_ Daichi thunders, voice loud enough for all the students to turn in curious horror. All traces of compassion had been doused out, and he was left simmering in a tight, cold rage. Straightening, he marches out of the room.

“Daichi, where are you going?” Suga calls after him. “You shouldn’t be wandering alone in your state!”

“Shut up!” Daichi snarls, heading to the stairs. “If I’m not getting a true response out of you, I’ll get it out of the first years.” He hunts for them in the halls, glancing into classrooms before he spots Hinata and Kageyama nearing the restroom.

“Stop right there!” Daichi says, standing in front of the restroom’s entrance. Hinata and Kageyama, who had been arguing moments before, recoil in surprise. There is a beat of silence, before Hinata holds his stomach.

“I need to poop!” Hinata declares, disappearing into the restroom before Daichi can catch him. _Damn fast first years._ He calms himself, instead choosing to put a steady, uncompromising hand on Kageyama’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Daichi-san,” Kageyama says.

“Morning,” Daichi replies, though he bites it out. He tenses as he hears Suga and Nishinoya’s footsteps approaching him from behind. 

“Kageyama,” Daichi begins, wondering what he should say. “You’re a setter for our volleyball team. You adore volleyball, you...you love it. You won’t deny that, right?” There are a couple painful beats of silence. Kageyama stares at him, face absent of feeling.

“What’s volleyball?” 

For the first time since this entire ordeal began, Daichi wonders if he has lost it at last.

Sprinting out of school building, Daichi bursts through the gym doors. He closes his eyes as he catches his breath, his arms holding him upright through clutching the door frame so hard that his limbs ache. After a couple more seconds of ragged breaths, he pries his eyes open.

The gym is as they had left it, empty and pristine. Practice has been suspended for the last couple days for routine safety inspections. Though practice would resume this afternoon, Daichi itches to get on the court again as soon as possible. Stumbling through the gym, he places his fingers around the supply closet door.

He breathes out. Push.

Inside the supply closet, he finds the standard team necessities—cans of Salonpas, spare bottles, and some brooms—but there aren’t any nets or volley balls. Daichi falls to his knees.

Instead of feeling the anguish he had a couple minutes ago, Daichi instead finds himself washed in a faded, blue calm. The tenderness was impossible to bear. Class is in three minutes, he should get out of here—but he can’t go, not yet. Steeped in what he has found, Daichi just sits there and stares. 

Why hadn’t he treated it as if it was the last time? Daichi wonders, remembering the last time he was on the court. He had wanted practice to end, his legs so sore he could barely haul himself to the changing room. He can’t remember what Suga had said to him that night, right before he’d left the team to head home.

But it had been important. All of it had. Daichi puts his face in his hands, throat tight and eyes damp. Feeling cold, he forces himself onto his feet.

Returning to class, Daichi is silent. The grief was too large to name. As was his longing for his team. And his desire to experience it all over again. 

Daichi submerges the film into the tray. 

He and Suga are bathed in the room’s red light as they develop photos side-by-side. Daichi breathes out a sigh of relief: at least he hadn’t lost Suga, too.

“I’m worried about you, Daichi,” Suga says. Contrasting Daichi’s amateur technique, Suga seems confident handling the photos. Pulling out one of the photos from the solution, he clips it onto the clothes line dangling in front of their heads. “I need your head to be in the game.”

“I’m doing my best, believe me,” Daichi says. “It’s just...a lot to handle all at once, I guess.”

Suga glances at him, eyes gleaming. “What do you mean?”

“I mean finding out none of it was real,” Daichi says, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “It just...I...” He breathes in and out. “It seemed so real to me.” 

Suga doesn’t respond, instead choosing to stare at him in mute somberness. 

“We had so many good moments,” Daichi says, “Or at least, I thought we did. We weren’t a great team at first, but we fought on, and we made it to Nationals, and...” Daichi rips the photograph out of the solution. The memories drip onto his shoes. “You and I, we...” 

Daichi pins the photograph to the clothes line, and then brings a hand to his eyes. “You were my vice captain, Suga.” It feels strange using the words in the past tense. Once he summons the courage to meet Suga’s eyes, he sees an exceptional pain held there, smashed and bright and all-encompassing. He lets his face fall too, hoping his pain could communicate the inarticulable: the scope of his loss, the weight of his memories.

“Listen, Daichi,” Suga says, his shoulders loosening as he turns to face him. “I should tell you—”

“Alright, the wrestling club is ready for you,” Tsukishima says. “Hurry. Nishinoya and Tanaka are already fully lathered.” 

“Lathered?” Daichi says, glancing at Suga. His friend’s somber expression has yielded to his normal business-as-usual countenance. 

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Suga smiles. “It’s an oil wrestling club.” Daichi feels his soul nearly ascend from his body as he lets himself be pushed out the door, Suga’s hands massaging his shoulder as they head outside.

The wrestling match is set on one of the grassy fields farthest from the school building. The rest of the team is already there, placing bets and cheering. Daichi finds Nishinoya and Tanaka on separate sides of the field, chests bare and shining as they stretch.

“What are the rules?” Daichi says, accepting the camera Suga hands him. 

“Well, it’s simple. Do you see the leather trousers they’re wearing?” Suga says. “The goal is to get a strong hold on them. Usually, one does this by putting his arm through it. Usually the match can persist for up to three days, but in Japanese tournaments the limit is an hour.” 

Daichi nods, hiding his confusion as he hears the whistle. Immediately, Nishinoya and Tanaka charge at one another, hands aiming for the trousers as they tousle on the floor. 

Daichi brings the camera to his face.

Though he tries to focus on the match, he can’t help but observe the people around him. They are the teammates whom he thought he had lost, but are still here despite their seeming absence of connection. He points the lens at Suga and Asahi, and then Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita, and then to Hinata and Kageyama attempting to out-cheer one another, and to Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, who exude disinterest as they share a container of popcorn. 

Nishinoya pins Tanaka on the floor, reaching his hands into his pants as Tanaka writhes in his uncompromising hold. He snaps a photo. He hears the cheers, wishing he could capture this, too.

For what has brought them here, if not the team? Daich stares at the people around him through his camera, not trusting his eyes. What binds them together? Even in the absence of the sport, he can feel it pounding in his core: indescribable, but definitely shining. It’s alright if he can’t put it into words. ‘Team,’ ‘family,’ ‘friend’...if he doesn’t name it, perhaps he won’t lose it, either. 

It’s not what it once was, Daichi continues, but it’s enough. And for the next minute and a half, it is this core which matters the most. It is all that matters, in the end. The memories fade but the core endures. The core is the one solace once the memories melt through his fingers, once he forgets the details of practice and the lines on his friends’ faces. 

Standing here on the field, feeling the deepest loneliness of his life, Daichi also feels such intense pleasure he can’t help but smile despite the pain. For he is here, and he remembers them. 

Resting his camera on the ground, Daichi lets the moment wash him in its light. This time, he won’t forget. He’ll cherish all of it. 

Tanaka pins Nishinoya to the ground, grinning as he assaults his trousers. There are murmurs as Nishinoya tries and fails to liberate himself from his friend’s hold. There are a couple more moments of struggle before Shimizu sounds the whistle, and Tanaka cries out in victory. 

Daichi stumbles onto the field and reaches a hand to grasp Tanaka’s greasy one, about to say a couple words of congratulation, before he sees Hinata materialise beside him.

Hinata bounces on his feet, smile wide and bright. “NICE KILL, TANAKA-SAN!” 

Tanaka reaches a hand to ruffle Hinata’s hair before he stills and glances at Daichi, perspiration forming on his temple. Daichi grimaces in confusion, before all the air is stolen from his lungs.

 _NICE KILL._

“What did you say?” Daichi demands, turning to Hinata. The boy’s face has gone pale,  
and he stutters, hands gesticulating in front of him in useless denial. 

“You little...” Daichi snarls, voice deep and threatening. He turns to find Suga hiding his laughter behind his hands. All of them boast amused, self-satisfied grins, and Daichi isn’t sure whether to feel irritated or so grateful it aches. 

“So, Daichi-san, you finally—” Nishinoya calls out, smile wide before he’s pulled into a noogie. Daichi contents himself in torturing his underclassman for a moment before he is interrupted.

“I thought that was you guys!” Ukai calls out, face set in irate lines as he approaches them. “What the hell are you all doing out here? You’re half an hour late to practice!” His lecture dies on his lips as he notices Nishinoya and Tanaka’s attire. He stares wide-eyed for a moment before he begins again in a more gentle voice. “What’s going on here?” 

Daichi releases Nishinoya, pinching the bridge of his nose before he realises his teammates are all staring at him. Lost for a moment, he grumbles and lets out a breath.

“Fine, I’ll explain,” Daichi says, motioning for the team to return indoors. “Please keep in mind that I wasn’t responsible for any of this.”


End file.
